


heaven isn't a place, it's a feeling

by peachmaisie



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachmaisie/pseuds/peachmaisie
Summary: "There was this old lady on the street corner.” Frank starts off and Karen listens she begins to peel the sticky paper away from the bun inside, icing sticking to the tips of her fingers. “Sweet thing, practically hunched over herself. She’s selling flowers, and I walk by not paying the slightest bit of attention and she calls out to me. Talking ‘bout how I look like I have someone on my mind and I should buy that someone some of her flowers.” He continues on, looking down at his coffee like he can’t quite look Karen in the eye as he tells his story. “She got me talking, that’s always bad news cause I can’t ever fucking stop- and she’s asking me about this girl who’s apparently got me skipping down 35th.”





	heaven isn't a place, it's a feeling

Karen wakes up to flowers on her bedside table. Lilies, flushed pink and spread open to face her. They’re stuck in one of the vases she’d shoved under the sink when she first moved into her apartment, no point in them when she never bought flowers for herself and there was no longer anyone around who’d get them for her. Yet, here it is.

It takes her a few moments to remember there’s supposed to be a weight beside her, when she rolls over to check she’s met only with the empty expanse of her white sheets. He had been here, she could still feel the pressure of his palm against her stomach as he curled his arms around her waist. It wasn’t some fever dream, was it? Before Karen could question herself too much there was a noise outside of her bedroom, she shot up just as the door slowly creaked up.

“Hey.” Frank’s voice is soft, hoarse, he sounds like sandpaper being rubbed against velvet. He’s carrying two mugs of coffee in one hand and a small bag from the bakery down the street, he’s like a dream standing there in his sweatpants hanging low on his waist and warm grey hoodie somehow too long for him, the sleeves rolled up so they don’t hang around his hands. “You slept for ages, thought you weren't ever gonna wake up at one point.” Karen watches him with careful eyes as he places one mug on the table beside her and then the bag, before going and perching himself on the edge of the bed.

“Flowers?” Karen asks simply after reaching over for the mug, it warms her hands as she curls her nimble fingers around it. She only looks outside when Frank reaches up and awkwardly combs his hand through his hair which is partly damp; snow. It’s snowing, or at least it had been while she slept. The city is tucked in with a blanket of white and it’s beautiful, it’s freezing but god if the cold isn’t worth the sight.

Frank doesn’t reply immediately. He can’t get his fucking mouth to work when she looks like that, Karen’s mouth parted in gentle wonder as she looks out the window and her hair like golden silk cascading down her shoulder. The sheets around her make it look as though she’s sat amongst white clouds; it’s like a punch to the gut. She’s so god damn beautiful and he can’t fathom any reason she’d want him here with her, but she does and he accepts it.  
  
“Old fashioned kind of guy.” He reminds her and Karen smiles.

The coffee is hot and bitter, it burns on the way down but in the best possible way. She can smell the cinnamon bun tucked away in the paper bag beside her and it makes her stomach growl, a low hum that makes Frank breathe out a small laugh. It smells like warmth, as though the physical sensation could have a scent, it’s cosy more than anything. Comfort, warm jumpers and woollen socks, fireplaces crackling with amber sparks, Frank’s stubble scratching against her cheek as he kisses her- that’s what cinnamon feels like.

"There was this old lady on the street corner.” Frank starts off and Karen listens she begins to peel the sticky paper away from the bun inside, icing sticking to the tips of her fingers. “Sweet thing, practically hunched over herself. She’s selling flowers, and I walk by not paying the slightest bit of attention and she calls out to me. Talking ‘bout how I look like I have someone on my mind and I should buy that someone some of her flowers.” He continues on, looking down at his coffee like he can’t quite look Karen in the eye as he tells his story. “She got me talking, that’s always bad news cause I can’t ever fucking stop- and she’s asking me about this girl who’s apparently got me skipping down 35th.”

“She was selling flowers in the snow?” Karen asks before realising that wasn’t the point of Frank’s story and shuts up. She instead rips a sticky piece of pastry from the bun and lets the sickly sweet icing do the shutting up for her.

“Yes, Karen.” Despite his sarcastic tone, the way Frank says her name is so soft. She wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling like the first time she heard him say it. “She was selling flowers in the snow, that’s not the point. She asks me about this girl and I don’t know how to answer. Cause this girl she’s...complicated. Too damn complicated for the word, and I also don’t want to go on about her to this lady cause I know she’s only trying to get my money from me.”

Karen knows he is talking about her but she listens as though it’s someone else. Her cheeks don’t flush with embarrassment, her chest doesn’t tighten with anticipation. She just listens, the silence hangs heavy in the room like the few moments before a gun goes off but she isn’t scared of what he’s going to say.

“So, I tell her this girl’s name and a bit about her. Mind you it’s freezing, I’m practically freezing my balls off and she’s there in nothing but some knitted shawl shit but she keeps asking more questions. What are her eyes like? Does she eat cereal from the box or with milk? Shit like that and I don’t know what she’s doing till she finally picks out those.” Frank gestures over to the lilies, petals perked up as though they too were listening in on his story. “Says something about how I’ve got myself a good girl, that I better keep her around.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says nothing, instead keeps picking at the cinnamon bun in the hopes it would delay her having to respond.

“Asked me if I loved her, this girl.” Frank took a sip of his coffee, he’d thrown some cream and sugar into Karen’s but he preferred his black; hadn’t had a sweet tooth in a long time. He could stop talking, it wasn’t as though this was critical information that Karen needed to know to save her life or something, it was just everyday shit but he couldn’t shut up. Something in the atmosphere, the sterile white over the city for whatever fucking reason was making him confess all this personal shit over coffee and a pastry.

This time, Karen replies.

“What did you say?” She asks and Frank finally turns to meet her gaze. It’s his turn to be silent, to decide whether or not he will let himself speak. If there’s anyone who deserves to hear those words it’s Karen but he isn’t ready, not yet. The words don’t feel like a betrayal anymore, it’s no longer a spit on his loved ones graves that he’s even considered loving someone else but right now those words feel better off at home in his head. Frank’s jaw clenches and he swiftly downs the rest of his coffee, it stings on the way down but he doesn’t mind.

He looks back to her and this time Karen knows exactly what he said. She pictures what he looked like when he said it; snowflakes caught in his curls like a flower crown, a crown he could easily make with all the flowers around him making for some colour in the otherwise white streets. As usual, when she thought of Frank it was with fondness, with hope that maybe one day he’d allow himself the permission to speak his mind.

“Well, they’re beautiful.” That got Frank to smile, he nods his head once in agreement before pushing himself up from the plushness of her mattress, leaning over and putting his empty mug beside hers. For a second Karen thought he was going to leave her be, to eat and all that jazz but just as she was going to call out to hi he turns and instead walks around the bed.

After kicking his boots off, Frank laid down on the bed. His feet barely managed to stay on the mattress, to be fair Karen also had the same problem so he couldn’t complain. He just watched her eat, sucking icing from her fingertips and delicately pulling the pastry apart with such carefulness as to not get crumbs everywhere.

It was freezing outside but tucked inside Karen’s apartment Frank had never felt so warm. They lived outside of the rest of New York, her little one bedroom apartment with poor water pressure and creaky floorboards was the closest to feeling at home that he had felt in a long time.

“Yeah… beautiful.” Frank’s eyes flickered down to her lips and for a single moment he knew this could be his life, for her he could be this sweet thing, this man who went and got her flowers and pastries drowned in icing just because he could. This could be his life, and he would love each and every second.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr at ["maggiemurdock"](http://maggiemurdock.tumblr.com/) and on [ patreon](https://www.patreon.com/peachmaisie) !!


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